Six Months Later Part I
' Guardians of the Plotline 33 1/2 'Senshi Ma/Southern Path to Lake Hylia/3 Months ago ' “Hey, you! Get out of the way!” A Twili Sergeant yelled out to a cloaked figure that was blocking the road. The man ignored the solders commands and instead calmly pulled a small wind instrument out from his pouch and began playing a somber tune. The sergeant and his lieutenant that was riding shotgun both jump down from the front of the wagon they were helming to approach the one man road block, “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing!?” A sudden gust of wind blew off the man’s hood and opened up his cloak revealing the sword adorned on his hip. Both soldiers quickly drew their own weapons prompting the man to stop playing and smirk. In the blink of an eye both Twili were felled by a throwing daggers that had found themselves lodged in the back the men’s necks. A shrill whistle rang out calling the infantry to poor out from the two wagons. The solders quickly encircled the man who had taken the time it took them to gather to put away his instrument. “I bet you all have quite a few questions right now,” the man said without showing a bit of concern from his predicament. “Who is this person? Why is he blocking our path? How did he kill those two that approaching him? But what you should really be asking yourself is, ‘what’s that buzzing sound?’” The solders look at each other a bit puzzled over the man’s words, at least until a few of them finally heard it. Some of the soldiers turned around and finally noticed the small object zigzagging towards them at a high speed. “Oh shi-“ one of the solders called out but what quickly muted by the bombchu exploding at the rear of the formation. The man took advantage of the chaos to draw his sword use a spinning attach that unleashed a wave of flame the killed or knocked back the solders that were all still standing. The survivors attempted to get back on their feet but most were two slow and quickly taken out by throwing knives. Two of the quicker ones managed to get up and charge the man with their spears. The man thrust out his free hand and sent of the two flying back head first into a nearby rock. He quickly parried the other’s spear, dash forward, and ran his flaming sword through the grunts chest. Before the man could pull his blade free another twili hand jump up to strike him from behind. The man tried to reach but was too slow but by a stroke of luck was saved when another throwing knife pierced through twili’s eye and into his brain. With his attacker downed the man quickly checked inside the two covered wagons for any remaining enemies, “Alright Misha, that’s all of them. You can come out.” “I’d hope so!” The irate young girl yelled as she walked out from her hiding spot. “There were like 40 of them. Did we really just waist are time on another personal caravan?” Senshi sheathed his sword as his approached his sidekick, “Maybe, with this many they may have been guarding something. I’ll start checking the wagons; make sure you check that officers pockets while you collect your knives. If we’re lucky he’ll have more than just movement orders.” “I don’t need you to tell me that!” Misha barked as Senshi entered the rear wagon. “Stupid jerk, I know what I’m doing. More than I can say for him,” she mumbled as she started pulling her throwing knives out of the bodies. She sudden paused when she saw the knife that had landed in one of the Twili’s eyes. She didn’t recall throwing that one and when she pulled it out it was clear someone else had thrown it. Someone else had to be trailing them. Senshi jumped out of the wagon startling Misha who was contemplating the extra knife. She quickly pocketed it before he could notice. “There’s nothing but personal effects in that one. Found some jerky and this book. It looks like it’s an herb guide. It might have for information of potions and poisons for you,” Senshi said he tossed the took the girl. His aim was too high though and she stumbled back as she tried to catch it only to fall into a strange purple portal that had suddenly opened behind her. “MISHA!” he yelled as he ran after into the portal without a second thought. The area fell silent save for the whisper of the wind blowing through the pass as a cold front moved in overhead. A light flurry of snow began to fall slowly hiding the blood and carnage under a sheet of endless white. The snow was also a cover for any unseen hands that may have passed through; hiding any foot prints that may have been made, obscuring any trails made by dragging an unconscious prisoner away. “Yay well thanks for nothing!” Misha yelled as she walked back to the trail. “Stupid blue haired bimbo, If I ever see her again it will be too soon.” Senshi followed just behind her. Both of their appearances had changed quite a bit with the hair having grown longer and a new set of cloths and equipment. “Don’t be too hard on her, her soul was fragmented. That can have a debilitating effect on someone’s personality. Anyway we need to figure out how long we were gone.” “Well it can’t be too long,” Misha said as she started to search the pockets of the dead officer, “even with this snow this guy’s body is still warm. That one you throw into a rock is gone though.” “Looks like whatever was in the front wagon is gone as well.” Senshi said as he inspected their quarry. “Well great, thanks to that ditz and her bad time this entire attack was a waste of time,” the young girl spat. “Maybe, but we gained something else more important instead,” Senshi reassure, “we found Polaris.” '''Chan Family Estate/Day 1 ' A middle aged woman walks into the mansion’s library and slammed down a pile of books on a table Misha was doing a hand stand on while holding dagger between her toes. The young warrior stumbled slightly but managed to regain her balance. “Young land I hope you’re not planning to throw that knife into one of these books for target practice,” the woman said with the fear inducing tone mastered by all mothers. “And honestly shouldn’t you be reading through these books instead of trying to destroy them.” The girl clicked her tongue in annoyance as she jumped down from the table, “it’s not like I understand half of them.” “Then start with the half you do,” the woman said as she slammed a book down in front of her. “Yes Mrs. Chan,” Misha answered back with irate sarcasm. “And no sass.” Mrs. Chan scolded as she gently smacked the young girl on the back of the head. “Marly, please tell me that’s the last of them?” Senshi asked without bothering to look up from the tome he was engrossed in. The Chan family matriarch apologized, “Sorry, one more stack. The war has caused a bit of a back log what with 3 sons and a daughter off fighting plus me your mother and the young one using most of our time to make scrolls and potions for your fathers unit. Translating and transcribing the Guardian library had to take a back seat.” “I guilt trip myself enough already Marly, I don’t need more,” Senshi said finally looking up. “That aside,” she said leaning in closer to speak more quietly, “how is it that a black ops agent like her has trouble reading historical records. Don’t they handle army intelligence?” Senshi sighed as another wave of guilt washed over him, “five minutes ago she was reading through the translated text three times faster than I can. Five minutes ago she was Mikhail. Her abilities are split along with her personalities.” “Are you saying I’m dumber than Mikhail?!” Misha shouted as he jumped up from her seat. She picked up a book from the top of the new pile and threw it at Senshi, “I’m just as smart as him.” Senshi held out his palm causing the book to stop with midair with telekinetic force. The book fell to the floor causing a letter to fall out which Misha quickly snatched up. “See I can ever read ancient. Let see that’s ‘to’ and that’s ‘General.’ To General Ho-Hora-Horarisu E-ridanusu, Ji-a-de-n Bi-ri-yu, no ryu, Bi-ryu...” Marly started looking over the girls shoulders to help her, “No dear that’s ‘Po’ not ‘Ho,’ and that little ‘A’ combines with the ‘Ji’ to make ‘Ja.’” “What?” Senshi said as he jumped up and grabbed the letter and quickly looked over it, “’To General Polaris Eridanus, Jaden Bryseis and Elizabeth Bryseis. From Patriarch Soldat du Ciel.’ What the hell is this?” Senshi tried to open the letter but couldn’t break the seal on it. It seemed to have some form of magic lock on it, “Damn it! Hey what was the book it fell out of?” “It looks like some kind of journal, but the first date if from well over 1000 years ago. “ Marly said as she picked up the aged tome. “I’ll take it with,” Senshi said grabbing the book, “in the meantime I think we need to go find Jaden Bryseis.” Fantastically Phantasmic '''Phasma Timora Kakariko Graveyard, Night 0 Moonlight broke through the heavy array of rain bearing clouds cast above the graveyard. Spirits wandered freely in the darkness, now with the solitude from others, and the power given by the night. Some of these ghostly apparatuses had conjured themselves up, with their own sheer distaste for the world, and perhaps a purpose they thought was now their own. Others, however, were summoned from their unhappy slumbers beneath the grave by curious necromancers. A withered old man robed in green, dirty, and absolutely soaked cloth quietly and slowly tread through the yard. Bright silver light shone from the top of the strange orb infused atop his wooden staff, seemingly protecting him from his potentially dangerous undead surroundings. He halted before a quiet, eroded grave. Miniature lakes and streams of rain water coursed through the grave. “Yes, this will do,” he wheezed. “Definitely.” He dug his staff a few inches into the dirt and began etching a rough circle around the grave, placing different coloured talismans in each corner. Mumbled phrases from an unknown tongue were quickly uttered. As this continued, the circle lit up, and the water inside scattered a purple light across the graveyard. This light spread itself through the soil like a spider’s web, and the grave is the centre. The grave itself began emanating with a violet tint, quickly gaining more energy until the blaring light violently dispersed itself and re-emerged as an energy throbbing orb. Quickly pulling out a bottle, he grabbed the orb from the air. He sighed with relief. “This has been one of the easiest ones in a long time…” He muttered. Typically, at least some sort of struggle is expected from newly conjured spirits. Now exhausted, the man pulled a crumpled piece of cloth out of his pocket and spread it evenly across the ground. He uncorked the bottle, and quickly flipped it on top of its head placing it directly in the centre of the cloth. Finally, he pulled the four talismans out from around the grave, and placed them in each corner of the cloth. Without muttering a word, the man tapped his staff against the ground, transferring the silver light from the orb in a large stream akin to a lightning bolt. The talismans’ respectively coloured energy seeped into the bottle and quickly thereafter, evaporated. The cloth levitated off the ground, closing around the bottle. With that, the mish-mash of material took life in front of the man’s eyes. Yellow crescent lights mirroring the moon lit up in the hood followed by the violent growth of two skinny translucent arms. The newly born spirit collapsed onto the ground. The man darted his eyes around the graveyard, dumbfounded. “What was done wrong?!” He shouted frantically. “Damn it! If I had known all of this was…” Mumbling and fumbling over himself, he haphazardly collected what little materials remained, and stumbled angrily out of the graveyard. As the rain grew heavier, the phantom awoke, rising off the muddied stone, half-conscious and unaware of its surroundings. Hazily, the phantom scanned the graveyard, until seeing his previous resting place. Though there was fine print on the grave, it was unsalvageable and simply not decipherable; except for the large (though clearly worn) letters reading “Phasma Timora.” Fogged memories revealing themselves, Phasma recalled his previous life. An impeccable sorcerer of dark magics and spiritual manipulation, which he found to be quite ironic given the circumstance. These skills, he remembers, were used to aid the royal family during the more dire times of a war. However, which war he had partaken in, he is not sure. Regaining full consciousness, he casually drifted across the graveyard. It was dead. This may of course seem an obvious and rational thing to most, but to an enthusiast of the afterlife, it’s incredibly odd. After moments of exploring his new surroundings, footprint-sized puddles quickly made their way to Phasma’s grave and back accompanied by circular holes and scrapes of similar diameter. “Have I been summoned?” Phasma thought. The idea enraged him beyond anything he had ever felt. Between thoughts of rage and frustration, a light voice cut and interjected itself into his consciousness. As if trying to be payed mind to, the voice increasingly grew louder and more invasive. Hey. '' Hey! HEY!'' Furious, Phasma silenced himself, awaiting for this unknown presence to explain its pretentiousness. “''Hey! Finally! Okay, listen to me. You’re right; you’ve been conjured up by an’ old Kakarikan geezer, and this dude is extreme bad news. Not in terms of danger, per se, but his general douche levels are remarkably off the charts. '' So, you may be asking yourself- wait, no, I know exactly what you’re thinking! So you are asking yourself, ‘Okay, great. So why are you in my head?’, and that is a great question! This guy uses an old method of conjuration, which involves summoning a living thing from the ground to grant life to a dead organism. It just so happens that I happen to be that living thing, and I’m stuck inside of your body! Marvellous, eh? Yeah, I know. So! My advice to you is to go to the village and absolutely pulverise that punk.”'' Phasma paused. He decided not to question it or think about it, because that would only further his intense confusion. Looking down, he glided above the footprints out of the graveyard. The moon was still hung high above the sky, granting all undead creatures some magical boost of power. Trails of rain water poured down the hillsides on both sides of the graveyard’s narrow pathway. As Phasma approached the village, the rain let up slightly. This, apparently, is a common occurrence in the town. Natural dangers and precipitation are more heavily focused above the graveyard. The townsfolk believe it to be the strong spiritual forces surrounding the yard. “''There!” The voice shouted. Phasma’s gaze was fixed on a rundown shack on a small incline. Phasma Timora Kakariko Village, Night 0 A warm dim light resonated out from the cabin’s worn crevices, which illuminated the otherwise totally black village, save for the moonlight. Phasma followed the fairy’s guidance and approached the home hesitantly. “''Bum rush him! Run in there, plunge your fingers into his wrinkly, old throat and rip out his insides! Do it!” It urged, anxious for a gruesome end to the man’s life. Phasma bundled his shapeless energy into a small, dense orb and rushed into the door, flinging it off of its hinges (though he has just found himself in the form of a poe, this ability seemingly has come as a second nature to him). The deafening crack of splitting wood jolted the man awake from his short-lived rest, and sent him into a dazed scramble off of the damp bed. Phasma remained still, frozen and apologetic toward the frightened old soul. “''GETHIMGETHIMGETHIM!” The vengeance-fuelled fairy screeched. Snapped out of his empathetic state, Phasma rushed toward him. To Phasma’s bewilderment, however, was the man threw himself out of Phasma’s trajectory, desperately searching for a means to defend himself. This chain of events continued briefly, until Phasma made direct contact with the man’s chest. A harsh crunch followed the blow, and he let out a yelp of pain before falling to the floor. Sprawled on the moistened carpet, he fingered for anything that could potentially sway things in his favour. Of course, this effort was met with a heavy drop onto his hand, crushing his bones into a sharp mess of shards and powder. “''SMASH HIS HEAD IN! C'MON!” Phasma rose above the bruised, twisted man before him, shrunk himself down in size once again.. As a last ditch effort, the man swiftly stuttered out a mess of sounds and ancient words. Upon its conclusion, Phasma’s body was ripped and contorted as he was flung back to back between the mossy walls. A strong light shone from the center of his being, shooting a barrage of bright rays around the room. This light was accompanied by a high-pitched hissing, not entirely dissimilar to a red-hot kettle, or geyser. And what followed strengthened the similarities, as the light rays were joined by an almost complementary black essence being spewed across the floor. The light, at a near blinding brightness, screeched one last time before being beamed out of Phasma’s body. The two beings soared in opposite directions and smacked off the walls. “''Oh, gods, no no no…” The light gently rose from the ground. “''This can’t happen again! It won’t!” The man, upon his final breaths, chuckled satisfyingly. “Oh, it certainly can happen. And it will.” With his non-crippled hand, he sketched the vague shape of a box. “Right now.” A metallic frame materialised itself from the surrounding wood and furniture in the light’s radius, and slowly a decently sized crater replaced the carpet and hardwood floor. “As if I could let a destructive, angry glutton such as yourself roam this Earth, Medicrises.” The man wheezed, and the small object continued forming. “I know not what this soul will pursue once he has awoken with a clear conscious, but all rogue spirits should have the luxury of a weapon…” With his last remnants of strength, the man scribbled gestures into the damp and dusty carpet. Near Phasma’s motionless body, a thin metal stick was materialised followed by the quick creation of a long and sharp scythe. By the time this finished, an iron cage had fully materialised itself around the fairy. A half-hearted smile stretched across the man’s face as his final breath escaped his crushed lungs. Old Evil ''For centuries the mad scientist Sirius Fulmaren has manipulated, lied, cheated, and sought to subvert the goddesses themselves. His machinations have brought great horror and pain, though at times he has also proved a crucial element in preventing death and disaster. His path has been a complex one, criss crossing along time and bringing him into contact with a myriad of legendary figures. And today that ends. Today Sirius Fulmaren shall be put to rest, his long journey at last reaching a pivotal point. Sometime between IWS2 and IWS3 Sirius Fulmaren “Well, I’ve gone and cheated.” Sirius chuckled at himself, as he typically did, regardless of whether he had made a joke or not. He checked the date and his smile faded.' “I didn’t realize it was already here. That we are already at this day.” He stood up from his work desk and dusted his clothes off. “The price you pay for knowing your future is the shock of when it really comes true. Really pulls at the old perpetually-in-denial heartstrings.” Sirius spoke to himself in typical fashion. Though at one point he had hosted a variety of living companions, Vera, his lifelong companion and sometimes wife. Severa, his vanished daughter. Sirius looked around. He wasn’t at his desk after all. He wasn’t in his laboratory. His own vision was clouded from bitter resistance to the truth. Today was the day he died. He would have thought after all these years that death would be a more welcoming sight. But he only grew more hateful of its presence. Growing rapidly more cognizant of the situation, Sirius found his old wit worming its way back “I have to ask, how is this happening? My records of the future shows this isn’t supposed to happen for another two hundred years. You’re getting a little antsy these days, Kokage.” “I believe you’ve spoken enough.” “Well. I guess you don’t care for the whole back and forth thing anymore.” Sirius was facing away from Kokage. His hands were bound behind his back, and Kokage pushed him forward a few paces, giving no further reply to Sirius. In front of Sirius the forest opened up into a small clearing, where a freshly dug grave awaited. Kokage pushed him again, and he tumbled forward, tripping and falling into his bodies last earthly stop. Sirius fell to the bottom of the ten foot drop, taking a face full of dirt as he collided with the ground. Wiping his face and coughing up the soil, he rose to his feet and looked upwards. “I get the strangest feeling we can be seen right now.” Sirius commented, refusing to break from his persona to show fear of the end. “Looks like the time shockwave isn’t done yet, is it?” He smirked and pointed at Kokage, who now stood at the grave’s edge. “Our ancient Hyrulean King is still ensuring our fate is complete, even now. Look behind you, Kokage.” The distrust between the two was far too great for Kokage to comply. But the sincerity of Sirius’ voice, and the sheer curiosity forced the forest elemental to steal a glance backwards. What he saw was exactly what Sirius had expected him to see. “What is it, oh green man?” Sirius asked mockingly. “It’s the battle at the timestone vault. The armies, the Ma - and just as you claim, the puppets of the king, the Gray Legends of the Trust. They’re all there.” “Yes...I remember them, at least the ones I saw in the Battle of Disharmony.” Sirius went somber for a moment. “Do you understand Kokage? These are echoes going both ways. This isn’t a time portal or some magic of mine. We are seeing the past, as they see the future.” Kokage could see that Sirius was telling the truth. Somehow, someway, the murder of Sirius Fulmaren was about to be on full display in the timestone vault. Sirius could see it in Kokage’s eyes. The forest guardian was reveling in the sudden influx of publicity the execution was receiving. “Sirius Fulmaren. I personally shall carry out the execution for which you have been sentenced.” The grave you now stand in bears special elemental seeds. These seeds are composed of clone material, taken from the bodies of the very clones you’ve created across the centuries. In your wake there have been special observers, ensuring that not everything you do is kept secret, or destroyed. Your ankles have already been rooted down. Look at them.” Sirius looked, and saw what looked like normal rope snaking its way around his ankles, and slowly up his legs. It wasn’t changing color, or changing shape. It was just ropelike and moving at a gradual pace. “Looks like rope to me.” He touched his hand to it, expecting it to burn or freeze or something of that nature. But nothing happened besides the feeling of rope. “Still rope.” Sirius smiled at Kokage. “I would have thought a tree man would be better at this whole gardening thing.” “What is your name?” Kokage asked, confidently and somewhat defiantly. “Really? My name?” Sirius laughed. “You tie some rope around my legs, and expect me to forget that my name is…” He paused and scowled. “Okay I’m sure this is just one of those tricks, one of those weird things that you can do because I helped create you. Or...you helped create me?” “What is my name?” Kokage asked, now certain that the ‘rope’ was working. “...I don’t know. I don’t understand the question. I don’t think I can….I don’t understand the question.” Sirius seemed almost hypnotized. Kokage saw the opportunity to continue his explanation. “The clone material was studied and engineered into a weapon that destroys memories, destroys knowledge. It attacks the mind. You are ceasing to exist in your own memories. You will burn in this pit, and be buried here. Your soul, should it continue on, shall not be attached to the persona you inhabit now. You are removed from yourself.” Sirius did not fear his impending death. He no longer recognized himself nor Kokage, remembered where he was or why, and he had no sense of self. While his sheer survival instincts were screaming, it wasn’t to bring a proper reaction as the previously benign rope suddenly began sprouting tiny spines. It had now wrapped around his arms as well, pinning him down. Just as he did not care what was happening, he could not see who began to shovel dirt into the grave. Sirius was completely isolated inside his mind, nameless and directionless. Above ground, Kokage watched as the grave rapidly filled. The roots consuming Sirius body would be done in mere minutes. To any watching the burial, it would all seem to have been a quick process, but in reality Sirius had been evading death for months, knowing it was due. So for Sirius, it had been long and drawn out, and the last few snarky comments were just the final words of someone who never progressed beyond denial. “It is completed.” Kokage turned his back on the grave. He strode away into the forest, as the dirt on the grave was covered by a thick mess of vines, curling into brambly loops that warned any in the area to stay back. Sirius would be remembered as a threat even in death.' OOC: This is where my new posts begin. A History Ratnis There are very dark and old things in this world. The inner workings of the Ma are enough to drive a man to suicide, fleeing from what his soul might be exposed to rather than cope with the eternal darkness within. Ratnis instilled such gripping dread that in his early existence he was purged out of his own body, and forced into a tiny bubble dimension outside the walls of Hyrule’s universe. Exactly when, who, or how has been lost to time. What is known is that it was many hundreds of years ago, long before either the Interloper, Epoch, Imprisoning, or any other legendary wars. Ratnis remained locked away from hundreds of years, until he at last found a tiny portal into Hyrule, just large enough for him to insert a tiny part of his soul back into the world. Ratnis removed two dark pieces of his spirit and turned them into living constructs, Sirius and Davus Fulmen. But Ratnis was partially foiled when a witch named Rhunerys interfered. Rhunerys did the bidding of Demise, a fellow Ma whom Ratnis held much contempt for. Even in failure Demise had accomplished much more than Ratnis ever had. Ratnis, still trapped in his prison, could only watch as Rhunerys somehow stole away Sirius, transforming him from an empty shell of dark magic into a living humanoid. Ratnis was left only with Davus, who he used to spread darkness across the land until the year AD2107, when Davus was sent back in time and later killed. And this left Ratnis with no other options but to wait for Sirius to die, so he could reclaim his stolen property. And wait he did. With Sirius dead, executed by Kokage, Ratnis could take his chance. Day 1, Southern Forest Region Morton Waypost The gravesite of Sirius Fulmaren sat undisturbed for months following his execution. The thick brambles however had begun to sag and appear sickly. The dirt surrounding the grave was loose, and had begun to subtly shift. Though usually the air was still and the grave silent, today a stale wind and a dark cloud were blowing through. Soft hellish whispers floated gently on the cloud, and all in one motion it was sucked down through the dirt into the grave. For a moment, things were silent. And then, the darkness below took hold of the corpse of Sirius, fully enveloping an consuming him. Ratnis had found a way back into Hyrule, and subsequently had put himself into the dead body of Sirius, partially merging with it, and assuming control. A rougher wind picked up, and plumes of dirt and vines began to shoot into the air. It began with a few, and within seconds dozens of plumes of dirt where firing off, until everything was cast aside. Standing there within the now open grave was a single Garo. Morton Waypost had risen. “...I can’t remember anything.” Morton said. “Except my name. Why is this my name?” Morton’s eyes were shut tight. He could only piece bits of his thoughts together. “Morton is who I am, but I am also Ratnis. If you are still in here Sirius, I have taken control. Your life is now mine.” He paused and repeated himself a few times, to be certain that it was the Ma Ratnis in control and none other. Satisfied, he looked down at his Garo robes. He suddenly felt the urge to pull back his Garo hood, and when he did, the rising sun briefly overwhelmed him. He looked at his body again, and was startled to find himself fully humanoid, no disfigurement or signs of being undead. “That’s an interesting trick.” He tried to recall memories of his past life as Sirius, but could find nothing. The damned man had somehow locked away his memories even in death. It would take some effort to find out why he was now a Garo that could transform into a person. Sirius always had been an ass and bringer of trickery, but this was truly a new level. Morton took a few steps away from the grave to a small stream, and looked at his reflection in the water. He blinked, and his face changed, but remained similar looking, still male, same green eyes, but everything else had been altered. He looked at his wrists, and saw a tattoo of a moon, but upon examining the rest of himself discovered no further markings. “Well...looks like Sirius wasn’t quite done with this world, even in death.” Morton mused. And then the first memory of his life popped back in. It was the most recent one, Sirius’ death. It was time for him to find this Kokage. He turned from the stream, but before he could set out on his search, a screaming sound like metal on rock filled the air. Looking up, he saw what was clearly a laboratory of some type burst out of thin air and immediately begun thundering down towards the forest. It crashed within seconds, landing on its side and destroying dozens of trees as it skidded to a halt. “Lets reorient.” Morton paused. “Whoever this Kokage is can wait. First, let’s see what the hell that building is, and why it crashed.” Morton Waypost, Laboratory Wreckage, Morning One “...My god.” Morton looked in the reflection of a small stream. He smiled at his warping face. “Is looking good.” The aura of self-satisfaction that Sirius carried around with him seemed too strong for even Ratnis to suffocate. Morton brought his gaze up from the water to the smouldering heap that was the crashed Fulmaren laboratory. It’s original form was impossible to identify, a mashup of a traditional Hylian castle, and alien looking metallic structures that jutted out every which way. Metal bowl like objects adorned the structure in various places ,and many of the pathways and spires that had protruded were now crumbled on top of the main structure. It was a hideous work of art. Further visual analysis confirmed that pieces of the lab had definitely fallen elsewhere in the forest as well, though it appeared to be limited to fragments, and all the core of the structure was still here in the southwestern forest corner. Miraculously, ridiculously, the lab was actually sitting upright, though the main entrance was crushed beyond use. Morton struggled to pull memories of the building, but they remained locked away. Instead he looked for any other open areas, and spotted an open window a few feet up. Wasting no time, he assumed his Garo form and with enhanced agility was easily able to ascend the broken structure and enter into the opening. He was met with a severely confused looking group of people. They were all staring at one another, wide eyed and open mouthed. Morton reeled with mental anguish as a memory from Sirius suddenly broke through the mind dam. The lab had just returned from another Era, The Battle of the Vault during the Epoch Wars. Why was the lab there? No matter, it was back now. And why was everyone so still? “Oh.” Morton said the word aloud as the lab fully resynced with the timeline, and everything within began moving. The wide opened mouth look was apparently unintentional as everyone in the room sprang into action. From left to right, the entire group leapt towards Morton, somehow already commonly identifying him as an enemy. Sirius memories flooded in, revealing their names as Morton dodged out of the way of the group attack. Stella Delphinus, Annie Zephyrus, Severa Fulmaren, Ithan Chiaria, Lia Chiaria, Ella Huntley. The memories from Sirius offered no explanation for why this group would be gathered here, except for the Chiaria’s. They were here because they expected Morton to be here. Sirius had somehow foreseen this and warned them. What were they protecting? Morton dodged out of the way of the next group attack, and saw Lia turn towards him with fury in her eyes. He observed that Ithan looked somewhat pale and weak, standing behind the rest. “This has all happened so quickly.” Morton remarked, his Garo blades drawn. “Anyone care to shed some light on what exactly is going on here?” Lia advanced towards him, but she paused as Ithan had placed a hand on her back. “I’m sorry, Lia.” Ithan mumbled the words. Lia’s eyes went wide and in an instant she and the entire group, except for Ithan, vanished from the room. Morton scowled on the inside, and took on human form, so that he might scowl on the outside too. He stepped towards Ithan, and glared at him. “Ithan Chiaria, you have long been a friend of sorts to Sirius. You and your wretched sister. Why are you here?” Morton stepped closer to the visibly sick man. “And when did you become so powerful? Where did you send them? Teleportation is not something I recall you using so well.” Ithan smiled, betraying his condition. “There’s very little I can’t do when I’ve decided to make the ultimate sacrifice.” His smile remained as pain crept beyond his eyes. Morton felt somewhat unsatisfied with Ithans reply, and pushed him up against a wall. Ithan didn’t drop his grin, and continued speaking. “I’m surprised you can suddenly remember anything from Sirius. Must be this place. In any case, the rest are safe now. Whatever plan you had for Severa, forget it.” “You are going to die today, Ithan.” Morton snarled. “I knew that before you did.” Ithan’s smile never wavered. Morton seemed in a fit of rage, and hurled him out the window, quickly following behind. Ithan went soaring through the air, but landed smoothly on the ground, his telekinesis still in-tact enough to soften the drop. Morton landed next to Ithan and leaned down, only to see the damned psychic was still smiling. Gleeful The Lonesome Treant, Laboratory Wreckage, Morning One The giant tree creature's eyes slowly opened to the sound of glass shattering before looking towards the origin of the ruckus. Dew fell off its grassy mane as it rose to its feet, each movement slow and deliberate, as if to avoid making sound; A futile effort really, as moving at all made the sound of creaking bark. Still, the treant gradually made its way to investigate the possible threat to its home, clutching the nameless body it held so dearly close to its chest. Before long, it came to a clearing despite its slow walk, stopping to remain blended among the trees. The treant's brow furrowed at the strange new addition to the forest's winding and sprawling design. It looked to be of man's design, yet its source of technological advance was indeterminable due to its woeful state of disrepair. The creature would have shrugged and left had it not noticed that there was in fact a struggle unfold to the structure's side. Assumptions led back to the sound of shattering glass, thus the treant moved slowly and carefully to investigate further, remaining in the trees. It froze dead in its tracks as it caught sight of the unfolding feud; There were only two, but both looked to be of great power and history. In the encounter's intensity, no further observation could be made of the situation. The treant wished to leave, but there was...something ''about this place that seemed especially important, a thought that was refusing to leave the creature's mind be. Giving in to such strange instinct, the treant took precaution, carefully placing the limp body it carried up high in a nearby tree. Hesitating only to make certain the body would not move from its resting place, the grassy giant moved closer to the fight, stopping once a full view was possible. It rested a single knee upon a muddy patch and watched, it's glowing eyes being the only evidence of its presence among the trees in the morning light. Those Crazy Zoras '''Bernard Kotaro Kondoru’s Notes' Who is Jeskai Kondoru? When did the Kondoru clan come into existence? What is their purpose? Jeskai is a Psychic Zora, who is the product of meddling by Sirius Fulmaren, who mixed tiny fragments of the souls of psychic twins Ithan and Lia Chiaria into Zora eggs. This was one of many experiments that Sirius performed on Zora clans in his long lifetime. Jeskai was the culmination of years of work. Jeskai’s entire clan is first generation, created in 2078 as one of Sirius’ final acts in the last decades of his life. Jeskai left his Zora clan behind six months after the Interloper War broke out, when one of their kind went missing, and is believed to be held captive by one of the warring factions in Hyrule. His missing companion is named Efran Kondoru, and is the only one of the group to possess full telekinesis. Day 0 Midnight to Morning Jeskai Kondoru “Efran, I wish you weren’t making me do this.” Jeskai sighed, and popped his head above the waters of the Eastern Ocean. The shore was half a days travel away, but by then it would be nightfall so there would be further travel until the morning. He performed a quick telepathic scan of the area, and didn’t detect any minds that could resonate back. With nothing else to use as an excuse for delay, Jeskai continued swimming toward the shore. And while it did indeed take the remainder of daylight hours to reach shore, the trance like state that his mind entered translated the journey into mere seconds. Waking from his trance, and rising from the water, Jeskai gazed at the sky. Clouds. He looked at the ground. Sand. It was always hard for him to find wonder in the small things of the world, when there was so much more to see within the mind itself. He dove back in the water, swimming several meters out to find a safe place to sleep. He allowed his foremind to enter a sleep state, and used his reserve mind to thicken the water around him, forming a shield that would still allow oxygen through. Telepathic Central Crossway Jeskai was asleep beneath the water, but his mind immediately entered into the telepathic link he shared with his kind. 28 of them at least. The 29th of his brothers and sisters was Efran, whom was cut off from the link. He smiled at them all, but didn’t speak initially. The interactions within the link were often very different from waking reality. Although one was more prone to speaking. Bernard. “Hello Bernard.” Jeskai smiled. Bernard was reluctant to fully submit to the link, but he still was considered one of the Kondoru clan, though his Kotaro name was not forgotten. He smiled back, and seemed particularly excited. “Did you make any progress on reaching out to any others?” Jeskai asked. “Yes! There are a variety of telepathic creatures in Hyrule. Most of them are spirits not living the physical world, but a great many are amongst the Humanoid species, Hylians, though not limited to that country.” Bernard opened up a book, one whose cover featured a large crescent moon, and the back cover that of a full moon. He flipped through quickly, pointing at various individuals. “Known telepaths.” He shut the book and smiled. “I really must return to my work. And I believe you are to be waking up shortly.” Bernard put a hand on Jeskai’s shoulder. “See you next time.” Day One Time never did pass the same way in the link. Sometimes Jeskai got the feeling that it was something more than just a shared mental space. It felt like it really was another physical place. It was not a secret idea either, the entire clan theorized the possibility, as was the nature of the link. The landscape felt uncomfortable, unhealthy. The wide spanning southern forest region wasn’t far off, and it gave Jeskai the sense he was being deceived. But his telepathy wasn’t tuned to non-humanoid creatures and objects. Yet. He tentatively opened up his telepathic channels beyond the link, openly looking for receptive minds. He immediately got a flood of chaotic screaming signals, background noise, as if for a split second hundreds of telepathic voices had all yelled in agony at once. Jeskai pausd. It was more than just yelling. Seemed like a mind screaming out in death. It wasn’t uncommon for a previously non-telepathic mind to give off a kind of telepathic death flare from the sheer intensity of the life ending. He shut the telepathy off and looked up at the sky, where a massive laboratory came hurtling from the sky and into the forest region. That’s where the screams came from, whatever portal had opened. At least that’s where most of them had come from. The journey presents itself whether I look for it or not. Jeskai opened his telepathy back up to just the link, feeling the calming presence of his brothers and sisters. It reassured him, and he continued onwards towards the crash site. The Funnel's Edge Major Aydiim of the Twili Army – Southern Forests – Dawn of Day One The hills were silent, but for the rumble and creak of wood and iron wheels rolling forth along the gravel-strewn pass. A line of laden carts and wagons, drawn by four-legged golem beasts of burden, stretched twelve deep to the south. Marching beside and before them came soldiers in their dozens, ashen-skinned, with halberds and crossbows, and short swords or tulwars at their hips. The pass they took wound up through rocky hills from Ordon in the south, cut through a narrow corridor flanked by high, sheer walls of bare rock, and then descended back into the trees below, where it would then take a more direct path northeast into the desert. There, an army of a hundred thousand waited for the supplies mounded high in the wagon beds. The Twili were wary as they led the wagons into that high pass, that claustrophobic terminus through the hills. For months, their supply caravans and any other units that separated from the main force, had been the target of vicious Hylian predations. Enormous caches of food, munitions, arms, armor, and raw materials had been destroyed or stolen, taxing the ever-dwindling supplies that Lord Grem's main force had on hand. And more, countless scouts and soldiers running escort duty had been killed or captured. Some unknown, unseen menace lurked in the forests of southern Hyrule, striking with swift fury and then vanishing into the gloom. They never struck in the same way, or in the same place, twice. Major Aydiim's eyes were ranging all around, at the walls of stone flanking the apex of the pass's route through the hills, at the six wagons ahead of him and the six behind, and at the other Twili serving in his hand-picked security detail. Every set of eyes was watchful, every pair of shoulders square and tense. They were waiting. This time, he thought, they would be ready to make their stand. This time they would face down whatever Hylian ghost haunted their steps. Up ahead, a sharp whistle blared through the pre-dawn gray. A look of consternation seized Aydiim's features, followed by bewilderment and concern as the line of wagons ahead rolled to a slow halt. Mutters rippled through the clusters of soldiers; steel clinked and leather creaked as Twili all around adjusted their weapons and settled into wary, ready stances. "Hold!" He shouted the words, even though the entire caravan had already come to a full stop. "Hold, you light-blighted dreck!" Adjusting the straps holding his bastard sword slung across his back, Aydiim began to push his way past the forward ranks. When he came even with the golems drawing the foremost supply wagon, he stopped. Ahead, arrayed across the narrow passage, leaving no room to circumvent them, four Hylian soldiers formed a short phalanx behind a wall of four broad, circular shields emblazoned with the crimson phoenix. Four broad-headed spears bristled over the upper-right edge of each shield, directed toward the Twili. Behind those four, another pair of Hylians stood with bows trained forward, arrows nocked and drawn. "Stand aside!" Aydiim called out to them. One and all, the Hylians' faces were graven as though from stone within their open-faced helms. "There need not be any deaths here today." One of the shield bearers called out in answer. "Go sit on a powder keg, you dusk-sucking Twili c—" The sound of multiple sibilant hisses from the rocky ledges above drowned out the rest. Alarmed, Aydiim's gaze shot upward. Where before he'd seen nothing, where his scouts had seen nothing when they'd checked the pass, now he saw four more Hylians lining those ledges, two on each side of the passage. Each held a bomb aloft, sparks hissing and spitting as the fuses burned down. "Cover!" he managed in a hoarse cry as the arms drew back and then lashed forward, whipcord smooth, and hurled the bombs down into their midst. The concussive, fiery blasts ripped through the gut, the very core of the wagon train. No cries of pain could be heard as bodies flew, ragged and ablaze, or as shrapnel tore through steel and deep into flesh. Fonts of blood sprayed and smoking shreds of flesh showered the huddled survivors in crimson. Even as the ringing in his ears began to fade, the passage was blanketed in a shroud of dark, sulfuric smoke and thick, choking dust. "Form ranks!" came the major's strangled cry. He could hear the distant echoes of soldiers relaying the command, could see the silhouettes of gathering lines forming ahead and behind. The twangs of bowstrings penetrated the confusion. Shadowed figures collapsed ahead of him. Footsteps in unison could be heard to slap against the bare rock beneath their feet. A flash of reflected fire on steel shields and blooded spear heads and more bodies fell. More arrows, more figures toppling. And then soldiers were screaming, scrabbling across the dirt and the gravel to flee back the way they'd come. The wagons were in ruins, most damaged beyond the possibility of repair. There was nothing for it but to escape. To survive, and bring news back to the army, to Lord Grem himself. Aydiim, in a shocked daze, followed his men toward the southern mouth of the pass, back toward Ordon. But something wasn't right. The shield-bearers were not in pursuit, nor were those above continuing their devastating bombardment. Just before the northernmost wagon, the phalanx was holding its position, barring that way out. The arrows from above were doing little now to thin the herd of shell shocked Twili. They were being funneled south. They were being herded. His blood run cold as winter slush in his veins, Aydiim shoved his way through the clamor, shouting orders even he could barely understand through the din. The sun was just rising over the eastern hills as he burst through the rear—now front—line, ragged as it was, and came to the head of their retreat. As one, the Twili drew to a sudden halt. Standing motionless at the southern mouth of the pass, barring the way back to Ordon whence they'd come, stood the one they called the Sunrise Knight. The rutilant radiance of the sword grasped in one chain-wrapped fist left no room for doubt. The knight's expression was firm as he raised his blade high and took the first step of his approach. Darrel Mytura – Hidden Encampment – Morning One "Twili scum-satchels didn't know what him 'em!" exclaimed Edge. Like the other nine who traversed the forest in Darrel’s wake, Edge was one of the Hylian marines who had joined the Sunrise Knight’s campaign in the south. As with the others, he bore no name or identity but that he’d chosen for himself. These marines called themselves the Knight’s Sword, and only referred to one another as segments of the blade. The names and identities they’d carried before were buried deep. Edge, the de facto second in command after Darrel himself, strode with an air of unwavering confidence following their victory, with his broad shield slung on his back, his bloodied spear in his fist, and a grim smile on his face. "Nayru's nipples, but that was satisfying!" Point, a military courier and communications specialist out of Ordon, snorted, out of amusement, derision, or a bit of both. She too was spattered in blood and brimming with feral contentment. Darrel strode through the trees at the front of his squad, silent, listening to their japes and exclamations with a quiet intensity. The blood was already cleaned from the blade of Morning's Edge, but flecks and splashes of crimson still soiled his surcoat and mail, and even then dried to a flesh-creeping crust in his unkempt beard. It had been gruesome work, his part. Trapped, desperate, the Twili had been as feral animals when they rushed him. With the dawn sun's warmth on his face, he'd met their charge with unyielding, immovable force. His swings severed arms from shoulders, chopped heads free from long Twili necks. When he couldn't use his sword, he struck with chain-bound fists, and each blow caved skulls beneath crumpled armor and shattered jaw bones like blown glass. And as he hacked and parried, the shield-bearers, Edge, Tang, Fuller, and Scab, moved in from behind. In the end, they made swift work of it. "Would have been nice if we could have preserved a few of their supply wagons," sergeant Quillon, the squad's ordnance specialist, mused. For their parts, the rest of the marines only nodded their silent agreement with the sentiment. Their encampment was hidden deep within the undead wood, amongst a land of death concealed in the trappings of vibrant life. The glade was riparian, snug against the bank of a narrow watercourse running south from Lake Hylia. The camp, such as it was, was constructed around a central pavilion, sparsely furnished, easily erected and easily struck when necessary. As they entered the camp past the empty pickets, the Hylians broke apart to go to their own tents and attend to their own business. But Darrel did not follow suit. Instead he strode through the glade, past the pavilion, to the riverside edge. There the tents weren't Hylian, weren't adorned with the phoenix. They sported instead the Weeping Eye. As he approached, a dark figure emerged as though out of nowhere to stand in his path. "General," the man murmured through the veil concealing the lower half of his face. "Where can I find Jaden?" Darrel asked. The Sheikah warrior glanced back over his shoulder for a moment, further into their side of the camp, and then back. "He's in with the prisoner, Sir." "Still?" The Sheikah nodded that it was so. "Fair enough. When he finishes with this business of his, tell Jaden that I'll be waiting for him in the command tent." "Of course," the Sheikah said with a respectful inclination of the head. Darrel turned and made his way back through the forest of canvas tents lashed to the ground with coarse rope and wooden stakes. He circumnavigated cold fire pits with naught in them but ash and the blackened husks of spent firewood. Theirs was a small camp, but it was orderly in its way. His marines were more prone to bouts of slovenliness than Jaden's Sheikah, but he did his best to clean up such lapses when he found them. His little group of Hylians were field tested now, fierce and clever and unswervingly loyal, and he intended to give them no excuses for failure. The command tent was nothing more than a small, peaked-roof pavilion with four canvas sides that could be rolled up to a height roughly equal to the top of Darrel's head and tied off. Inside, there was a small table and a pair of stools. On the table were several furled sheaves of parchment, the largest a map of Hyrule from Ordon in the south to Snowpeak and the frigid wastes in the north. After ducking into the pavilion, it was that scroll he carefully unrolled across the surface, sweeping the others onto the ground. He took up a few rocks and placed them at the four corners of the map to hold it in place. His left hand rested on his sword's pommel as he stared, unblinking. This war has consumed you, my morning light, came the familiar refrain in its gentle, melodiously chiding tone. You barely eat; you sleep only to see my face again. Your spirit is strong, but it cannot sustain you. Not forever. "I'm doing what has to be done," he murmured his reply, so low under his breath that one would have had to be standing at his side to have heard it clear. "The Daybreak Alliance is fractured. Kae and Mirra have vanished, as has Polaris. Those of us who remain... we're poisoned by vendettas and too many separate, conflicting agendas. I thought that by taking the fight to the Twili, I could hold us together until..." Until a way forward presented itself, she said again, her voice a soft echo riding the current of his thoughts. You've never thought yourself equal to the tasks placed upon your shoulders, my love. You've been haunted by self-doubt since the day I met you. Your spirit is that of a titan, but your mind and heart play tricks on you. Some day, I think, you'll realize what you are capable of. "What if they don't come back...?" he found himself asking. Then, my love, you will have to find your way without them. As before, as it always was when she came to him, the presence he felt faded into darkness. As he took his hand away from the hilt of Morning's Edge, he knew he would not hear her again for some time. Still, her words were imprinted on his thoughts as though pressed into them with a glowing iron. He drew a finger in a circle around the desert region and tapped the center. That was where he knew they would find the Twili main force. He'd spent time in that encampment, the personal prisoner of Lord Grem. Thus far they'd been reluctant to move out of the relative comfort of their stronghold. Because of lesser Twili forces and the havoc ever wreaked upon the land by the very worst of the ancient Darks, the Twili must have been content to watch from afar as the kingdom's heart was devastated, as its infrastructure rapidly crumbled. He almost howled in frustration. He was a battlefield commander, not a tactician. He felt utterly and entirely inadequate for the war he knew was looming just overhead. The Twili wouldn't wait much longer. Hyrule Castle Town was an unapproachable hive of varicolored darknesses. Demons and the undead, vying for control of a haunted cesspool. Zora's Domain, along with the rivers and Lake Hylia, were frozen over. The Twili already held Ordon and the southern regions. Only the east, Eldin, appeared to have any chance at holding out. With resistance appearing so minimal in between, the Twili would have little choice but to uproot before long. Darrel and Jaden had not been able to stop every supply train from reaching the desert, but they'd choked off enough of the necessary resources from the main force that only by picking up and moving into new territories would they have a chance at plundering from the land what food and materials they would need. If the Hylians, and the Gorons, could fortify Eldin in time, the Twili would be facing a siege of treacherous mountain passes when they arrived. They would need replenished stores to wage an effective campaign there. You will have to find your way without them. If only, he mused, he could figure out how. Spoon Fed Jaden Bryseis/Black Ops Camp/Dawn 1 It had been a very long night. The Twili Captain known as Melined the Younger was Jaden’s latest captive. His Sheikah subordinates had brought him in two days earlier after some successful sabotage on a caravan coming into Ordon Province. Their camp sat in a precarious position and it could not be compromised. Therefore, any hope that Melined had of living or being incarcerated was nil. Of course, the Captain didn’t know this. Jaden knew of Twili scryers. His sister, long missing in action and hopefully still alive, revealed that intel tactic. Therefore he had to keep his interrogation tents well cloaked so that surroundings could not compromise his operation. He had been working very closely with the legendary warrior Darrel Mytura. The Sunrise Knight had a clandestine force of Black Ops troops at his disposal, and the Sentinel had his Sheikah elite assisting with the back end of the project. Similar to the fate of this Melined bloke, others had suffered Jaden’s rendition of torture tactics to extract information. He’d gotten many useful leads, and generated dozens of bodies… For most of last night, Jaden exposed Melined to two rounds of his rendition. The first round was good party bad party, and it was hours under a hot torch that may or may not have been used to burn the Twili Captain when information given was incorrect or undesired. Burns, pummelings, close-quarters combat submission holds, and a bit of back-alley dentistry were mild punishments compared to what was to happen next. He let Melined rest for an hour while he prepared a new list of questions. He wanted movement reports on supply lines, leads on future invasion plans, and the names of certain commanding officers behind it all. He got what he wanted from the supply lines route, as Darrel was currently out executing on some of that intel. Round two of rendition was just as painful for Melined, but in a different way completely. There wasn’t any cutting, burning, or maiming. Just drowning. Jaden prepared his victim on a slanted table with the top half of his torso tilted toward the ground. He then bound him taut in shackles. Arms and legs were ironed together and the head and neck stabilized in a vice. He held a towel over Melined’s face and began to empty buckets of stagnant water on top of it. It didn’t take very long to extract the next invasion plans: Frozen Lake Hylia. Sure, another caravan was coming from Ordon to the desert, and the Hylia plans may or may not have been behind schedule. But Jaden was successful once again in getting what he wanted to know. This caravan was another high yield hit. They were going to be passing by the Great Fairy Fountain today to fortify the Lake Hylia invasion units. But Melined refused to speak further, so Jaden let him sweat uncomfortably. Jaden informed him bluntly that this was his final chance to spare himself a painful passing. “I killed your brother early in the war. That rout you bastards enacted in Southern Hyrule Field, the one assisted by Kinslayer? The one that got me captured? Before your Lieutenant Zelgadiz took me out, I split his head open like a ripe melon. Your name fits. I wore his brains on my fist...if you tell the truth when I return, I won’t be wearing yours.” The Twili swore at him in anguish, throwing epithets and other uncouth language in his general direction. Burying his boot into the blasphemer’s ribs, Jaden said nothing and walked out. A few hours later, he walked in carrying only a spoon and a green apple. This confused Melined greatly. “Three chances to talk. Tell me the commanding officer’s name.” The prisoner was badly beaten and barely able to move at this point. A few other Sheikah were watching their future leader work, waiting in the wings in case anything were to go wrong. But Jaden was an expert at these arts, having used many passed down from the very first Impa of their tribe. Melined barely got out the word never before Jaden swiftly brought down the spoon’s flat end upon the bridge of his badly broken nose. He cried out fairly loud again, swearing he’d never say who was leading the Twili forces into the Lake. "You really won't like the next part. I will ask you twice more, and refusal to answer, or an incorrect answer will result in a painful death. Who is commanding the invasion force?" Melined told Jaden to fornicate with his mother. This displeased Jaden greatly. He dug the spoon into his apple and rounded out a thumb-sized chunk. Taking a bite out of the other side, he walked closer to his prisoner. "Next time, I will not be merciful. Consider this your final warning." Motioning his fellow Sheikah over, Jaden advised them to hold his victim's head still. He then took the spoon from the apple and proceeded to remove Melined's right eye completely from the socket. Sure, there were screams, and they were pretty loud. In between those screams were feigned assurances of compliance, which Jaden did not listen to. Since the spoon had been in the apple, it stung all the more with the removal. He took the intact eyeball from his spoon and dangled it as his victim writhed and shuddered. "I will do the same thing to your left eye. Last chance. Tell me who their commander is." It finally got through to Melined as blood gushed from his empty socket. But it was already too late. "His name is Ryssdal. Baron Simeon Ryssdal. He is one of our most powerful sorcerers. Not even your Scion would stand a chance. With his power, he may as well be Lord Grem himself, Praise be unto him!" He wasn't lying. Jaden could sense the certainty in his voice and his heartbeat stabilize. How quaint, as he was to silence him. The praises to their heretical leader was the last straw. Flipping the bloody spoon backwards in his hand, Jaden rushed at Melined, burying the slim end into his empty socket and through his brain, killing him instantly. His subordinates began to unchain the corpse as he stood there trying to gain control of his breath. "Clean this mess up." With his hands covered in blood, Jaden reached for a nearby flask of Sheikah Smokewater and exited the tent. Others nearby knew by that look on his face that he had gotten what he wanted from his victim. Again. He was always good at extracting information. He was almost as good at extracting teeth and eyeballs. "Death by spooning, Lord Bryseis?" One of his recon crew asked as he walked with the future chieftain. "Indeed. Have you seen Lord Mytura?" He still left his hands unwashed, taking long quaffs of his flask of hard liquor. "He made his way to the Command Tent after a successful raid. You were in there a long time. He had been looking for you." Nodding in affirmation, Jaden sent him as he was and made his way to the main tent. Darrel looked exhausted and troubled. He was studying their campaign map, tracing on it and focusing his gaze on various locations. "I spooned it out of the bastard. Where the next caravan is headed, where their advance invasion forces are going, and who is leading them. We got some work to do. Good job this morning, eh?" Blood dripped from his hands as he approached closer to Darrel. He didn't dare say much more as that kind of focus meant his attitude could be anywhere on the spectrum of tired to frustrated. It was already a long day and it wasn't even past breakfast time. Darrel Mytura - Hidden Encampment - Morning One "I spooned it out of the bastard. Where the next caravan is headed, where their advance invasion forces are going, and who is leading them. We got some work to do. Good job this morning, eh?" As always, Jaden’s approach was deadly silent. He was very much a Sheikah in that way. Darrel finally tore his eyes away from the map and up to meet the young warrior’s almost wolfish grin. There was a bestial gleam in his violet eyes that bespoke a fierce pride, as well as a somewhat darker pleasure. The blood still dripping from the Sheikah’s scarred and calloused hands did not go unnoticed, either. “The operation went as smoothly as could be hoped,” Darrel replied. “We couldn’t salvage the wagons, unfortunately, but we accounted for every Twili head, at least.” As he often did, Darrel found his mind at the heart, the eye of a storm. Theirs was a world of darkness, war torn and teetering on the brink, of slavery, annihilation, or something else in between. To have seen one so soiled as Jaden now was, standing before him, might once have stolen the heat from the Sunrise Knight’s blood. Alas, that such illusions of black and white morality could not survive the passage of time, nor the descent of the ever deepening shroud. Jaden tortured to acquire information, and Darrel in turn used that intelligence to wreak bloody slaughter amongst their enemies. To do anything else would be to invite an exponentially swifter devastation of all that they knew. He straightened to his full height, rolled broad shoulders to work out the stiffness of immobility. The wind through the trees was a warm breath on his face, rustling his beard and causing the lank strands of his once-lustrous golden locks to flutter. “This Twili, what did he give you?” Jaden drew out his flask, a common affectation of his in recent months, and took a long swallow of the Sheikah liquor. After a hissing exhalation, he wiped a dribble from his bottom lip and answered. “If we can believe the bastard, and I haven’t gotten a scrap of misinformation yet, then it looks like the Twili are finally getting restless.” Jaden came forward, took up a position at the edge of the table to Darrel’s left, and placed his right index finger on the map along the desert’s southeastern edge, leaving a bloody print to mark the spot. “They’ve started setting up staging areas near the passes that run through the mountains between the desert and the lake. That’s the route they’re going to use to move deeper into Hyrule.” Darrel considered the positioning of the print for a long time in silence. Jaden watched him, watched the cogs turning behind his eyes, but didn’t speak. He already knew where Darrel’s contemplations were taking him. “That’s closer than I’d like to the Fairy Fountain,” he mused. Jaden only nodded in agreement. “Seems like a prime opportunity if you ask me.” This time it was Darrel’s turn to nod. Jaden was right, it was an opportunity, a chance to disrupt the Twili advance in a more direct fashion than they’d been able to do in recent months. Considering the terrain, seeing the Twili proximity to the Fountain, to their cache of stolen supplies, their occasional hideout when matters got out of hand, a plan was starting to take shape in his mind. “We can make this work,” he said softly, as much to himself as to Jaden. “If we plan it right, we can weaken them and then strike hard once they’re vulnerable.” Jaden’s wolfish grin was back. “You read my mind, General.” And this time, Darrel allowed himself his own brief, hellish half-smile. He held out a hand and cocked one eyebrow in a questioning look. Wordlessly, Jaden responded by slapping the flask into his fist. Darrel unscrewed the top and took a long draw, revelling as the fiery liquor scorched his throat on the way down. A sigh of satisfaction and he handed it back. “Spooned it out of him, eh? I’ll consider myself lucky that I missed out on that mess.” Jaden barked a quick, dark laugh, drawing one out of the dour Hylian as well. A dull roar, somewhere off to the south, cut their gaiety off. The tremor that shook their camp brought back their shared gravity. “What in the hell…?” Jaden murmured, peering out through the open side of the command tent, off in the direction of the clamor. “Twili?” Darrel frowned, all levity and humor forgotten. “I don’t know,” he said back. “But we should go find out.” Morton Waypost, Grounds Outside the Crashed Lab, Morning 1 Morton had the upper hand, he could make the killing strike at any time. It was as if he had burst in upon Ithan in a medical facility, he was sick, already dying. This was a deeply unsatisfying situation to Morton, to Ratnis. Ithan wouldn’t stop with his grinning. He couldn’t have made it more clear that he had seen this coming, either through some new power of foresight, or with the assistance of Sirius. He kept Ithan pinned down solidly, just in case it was a trick, and looked up as two unfamiliar faces came through the trees into the pseudo-clearing created by the wreckage. Ithan seemed keen to subvert by offering false assistance. He calmly telepathically transmitted the names of the two individuals to Morton. Sirius must have had some knowledge of them too for the moment Ithan made the connection, Morton felt his memories return to him. “Darrel Mytura. Jaden Bryseis.” Morton stood up as he spoke, keeping a foot planted on Ithan’s neck. He removed his hood, revealing his unfamiliar face, though his body remained rather bizarrely juxtaposed in Garo form. He looked rather awkward hunched over in such a manner, and quickly adjusted, fully assuming a humanoid form. “Ithan here is playing games. And I’m sorry to say, no, we haven’t met. Unless you met Sirius Fulmaren - I used to be him - well no, I took control of the body that used to be him. Anyway, I’m Morton.” He pushed his foot down hard onto Ithan’s neck, crunching down. Ithan’s mouth opened in a scream, and while no sound came out, any creature with even a slight semblance of telepathic ability within 100 miles would have felt the scream pierce into their mind. Morton didn’t stop pushing, and Ithan was dead within seconds, his neck completely crushed in, spine severed. Morton straightened his pose, and gazed at Darrel and Jaden, who had seemed poised to attack but halted when they realized it was too late. Ithan’s last thoughts, those that had escaped just before the scream, hovered in Morton’s mind. (“Find the Kondoru. Do what has never been done. Convert the darkness to the purest of forms. Bring tranquility to chaos.”) Morton knew he wasn’t the only one that had heard that message. He could wager a guess at what it meant, but he didn’t have the time to ponder it. He needed to escape this area, Ithan had given Morton the accidental benefit of knowing just how angry Darrel and Jaden would be with his murder. A fight was surely coming, and he needed to be quick, either in dispatching these two, or escaping. Once all clear, he could return to investigate the lab for further ways to unlock his memories. He eyed his two soon to be foes carefully, and made no moves towards them. “....I should be going then.” He said the words, but continued to stand still, waiting first for their response. '''The Lonesome Treant,' Laboratory Wreckage', Morning One' As the last echoes of Ithan's telepathic screams faded back into the silence of the wind, the Treant slowly blinked its eyes and looked down to the Earth solemnly. As if it could hear the echoes too despite the silent nature of the sickly man's death, it's body shuddered slightly before the Treant slowly began to rise to its feet. A few moments passed before it looked back at the body it had placed up high in a nearby tree, confirming it was still there before turning forward again and walking forth into the clearing with slow and deliberate steps. Its eyes looked down at Morton when it emerged, before looking down at the newly deceased body. Moments passed before it step forward again, displaying intent of no harm in its slowness and calm before finally kneeling down on one knee next to Ithan. Ignoring Morton and the two other spectators entirely, the Treant began to dig, scooping large clumps of dirt with its powerful hands and setting it aside as if it weighed nothing. It's silent toil continued until a four foot deep man-sized hole had been created. Still ignoring the others and paying little mind to the dirtiness of its hands, the giant creature slowly scooped up Ithan's limp form, stopped as if considering before finally resting him inside. It hesitated to continue, making motions as if to pop what would be knuckles in its hands. With a single swoop of it's arm, the Treant replaced the dirt into the hole, flattening it down with soft pounds of a mighty fist. As quickly as he had left the land of the living, Ithan was hidden away from the sight and memory of the living. The Treant wasted little time as it plucked a single blade of grass from its shoulder, squeezing it tightly in its mighty fist as if to crush it. A faint glow of green shimmered briefly before its hand opened once more, revealing a single zinnia resting and healthy upon the palm of its hand. Creating a divot in the dirt with a finger, the Treant gently planted the sunflower into the center of the fresh patch of dirt, pinching excess dirt around its root to keep it standing erect. The monster looked down at its work with a sad posture, moving its shoulders as if sighing before finally rising back up to its feet. Its work done, it turned around wordlessly, slowly disappearing back into the trees to retrieve its companion and move on. As if intended by the Treant as a final touch, a butterfly took a rest upon the new sunflower as soon as the giant's form disappeared from view, with the thumping of it's footsteps echoing in the wind. Ma Hunters Neo 'Ayala Ma/Kokiri Forest/Morning 1 ' “So explain to me again why we’re here?” a solder asked to his buddy as he threw a card down on the tree stump they were sitting around. “Guarding the Kokiri,” the other solder responded as he dealt out a new card to his friend then replaced two of his own. “Call.” “Yeah, but why? Call,” the first solder asked again before throwing down his cards. “Pair of threes.” “Damn, Jacks high. Your deal. I don’t know brass thinks it’s important, or at the very least WO has some connect with this place or something,” the second soldier answered while handing over the deck. The first solder started to deal out the cards but still wasn’t happy with the answer he’d gotten, “Yeah but why us? Aren’t we supposed to be some kind of elite fighting unit? Shouldn’t they have normal grunts here?” “Well that’s the positive version. This unit was original started out with a bunch of fuck ups who knew how to throw down. Two,” he said throwing down his cards. “Besides its WO’s assignment and we’re her support troops so here we are. Anyway, don’t let SSG Megumi here you bitching. Her idea of enforcing discipline will leave you walking funny for a month.” “We’re here because the Light Warriors have used this as a sanctuary in the past and we owe to the Kokiri to protect them while Kokage’s missing. Plus we still need the Deku Tree’s help to make the sword.” Ayala said as she and Crim approached the two privates who had taken the night watch. The two solders quickly snapped two and saluted the Warrant Officer who merely stared at them with a confused look. “We’ve been over this. You have to salute back or they’ll just keep standing there like that,” Crim whispered into Ayala’s ears. “Oh right sorry,” she said while finally returning the salute and allowing the two privates to relax. Though there relief was short live as Ayala suddenly turned looking into the distant wood causing the 3 solders to assume she spotted an enemy and ready their weapons. Instead she darted into the woods with a gleeful expression. “Oh, that’s probably the guy we’ve been covering for,” Crim said as the figure came into view. “You two better put down your weapons. From what I hear you don’t’ want that guy thinking you’re a threat.” “Kokage!” Ayala squealed as she glumped her fellow Light Warrior. “Where have you been? It’s bee months.” “Who are they?” Kokage ask having completely ignored Ayala’s questions. “Oh they’re with me. They’ve been helping protect this place since disappeared. And you didn’t answer my question.” Ayala prodded again but a sudden explosion in the distance that seemed to make the whole forest shake ruined any chance of getting a straight answer. “What the hell was that!” Crim yelled out. Kokage turned towards the direction of the commotion with a melancholy gaze, “Something problematic, more than likely.” The elemental’s response worried Ayala. Something blowing up in the middle of the forest would usually enrage Kokage but he seemed resigned too it this time. She was about to ask him about but her concentration was suddenly broken by a familiar warning followed suddenly by a sharp pain surging through her mind. “Hey, Ayala you ok.” Crim asked as he saw the woman gripping her head in pain. “Yeah, its passed now,” she said as she composed herself. “For a moment I thought I sensed a Ma but then I got some weird feedback. Like a psychic attack or something. Whatever it was I think we need to investigate that explosion. Me and Kokage will go ahead, have Megumi stay here and the rest of you follow after us.” The race through the forest was uneventful. Ayala occasionally looked over at Kokage concerned over his disappearance and personality change but at this point she could tell he wasn’t going to talk about. As the two approached the large structure that was seemingly the cause of all the commotion a familiar voice called out to Ayala’s mind. ''“Find the Kondoru. Do what has never been done. Convert the darkness to the purest of forms. Bring tranquility to chaos.” '' “What was that? Kondoru? That voice, was that?” She started to ask herself aloud but stopped when she finally caught sight of the three men standing outside of the large structure that had crashed into the forest. “Darrel? Angry Sheikah guy? What’s going who’s that guy?” she asked trying to grasp the situation at hand, at least until she saw a strange wooden creature carried a body away. “And what’s that thing and what is it doing with… is that Ithan!?!” Ayala readied her sword of light and was about to attack the tree creature but was stopped by Kokage. “She’s burying him," he said with a harsh bluntness. “Ithan Chiaria is dead. That treat is merely granting a respectful resting place. If you anger should be directed anyway one would suspect it should be at the man your friends are staring down." My Brand! '''Isaac Telmar – Hyrule Castle Town Catacombs – Morning One' It seemed like mere days since he'd stood here in this very junction, teetering at the edge of the waste drainage canal, ignoring with hearty disdain the words of the Scion's relentlessly annoying rodent, the Plenipotentiary. Then, as now, there had been war in Hyrule. Then, as now, he had had little use for it. But then, unlike now, he'd been a slave, living a life without choice beneath a thin veneer of free will. Thou shouldst show more interest. These Twili bring magic of a dark and terrible nature, even one such as thyself cannot challenge it should they establish dominance. He snorted, but not wholly out of derision. He didn't need to see his reflection in the languid flow of waste water to feel the black mark upon his cheek, left by the surprisingly gentle, remarkably hungry, wickedly insane Twili Subcommander. He didn't have to wait for the Brand to burn with vicious need, nor be surprised now when it remained cold on his flesh, to know that the Voice had been right, after all. It was almost enough to find and kill Taliesin with his own hands. The sound of squirming, the rasp and rattle of chains scraping against stone and mortar, brought his head around. Mere paces away, in the exact spot whence the Plenipotentiary had excoriated him for his wretched ways, a Twili in armor, ragged and scored by blades and claws, sat with his arms bound behind his back. The chains that held him were threaded through wrought-iron bars in an intricate lattice that made escape all but impossible for him. A handful of paces further down the side of the canal, another of the dun-skinned interlopers sat, similarly bound. Both directed eyes of striking reddish-orange toward him, with expressions ranging from expectant to vaguely terrified. "Have you ever spent time contemplating the nature of servitude?" He started to pace to and fro between them, arms crossed behind the small of his back, and for once there was no upward curl to the left corner of his mouth. Stern of expression, he strode five paces, spun on one heel, and then traced his footsteps in the other direction. "I have," he went on, "and I have come to realize some things about the nature of our world as a result." Two more long strides, his coat fanning out behind, a chill gust through the tunnel tugging at the stiff spikes of his hair, and he stopped and turned to face the two bound figures. Their eyes trained on him as he let his arms fall to his sides, fixed on the pair of items held in those hands, down against his hips. In the right was a mask, black, shaped as a skull with vertical slots on one side of the mouth, the other side looking as though it might have been broken off. In his left, the Sun Shard pulsed with a grim, golden-violet light. "You know me, don't you?" he asked, arching one expectant eyebrow. "Speak." "I know you, Kinslayer," the interloper to his left declared. Now, his lip curled upward. "Of course you do," he replied, almost breathless. "I have perhaps not achieved the apex of infamy reached by erstwhile colleagues of mine, but yes, you know my name. "What, pray tell, does that recognition inspire within you?" For a moment there was silence. It had been a truly peculiar six months. Six months of groping about, seeking to grasp onto something, to establish who and what he was. So much of his six hundred plus years had been ruled by the infernal creature tugging at the end of his leash, bidding him this way and that. What was he now? What was his identity? He hadn't been sure, couldn't be sure. Not at first, not as the dreams of opening draconic jaws wide, inhaling souls and expelling them as impossible dark fire had taken root in his unconscious mind. Not when the memories of his early life, his first life, had filtered in with the other dreams to form a tangled welter of death and fire, resentment, hatred, and a tiny shred of love. It had taken a long time to suss out exactly who, and what, he was now. "You're going to kill us," the one to the right said in hushed tones, "to feed our souls to the demon writ upon your flesh." Isaac nodded; it was as he'd known it would be. "Indeed, but think, think! What comes first to mind, when the name Kinslayer is whispered in dark corners?" Silence, and then... "Chaos." The smirk deepened; heat flashed sooty red in his eyes. "Do you not see the contradiction in terms?" he asked, resuming his circuit, stalking hither and thither along the crumbling precipice of the canal. "Chaos is disorder, it is the absolute liberation of all things from the tireless attempts to define and constrain them." "Long have I fancied myself an agent of disorder, a true herald of chaos, but even as I engaged in the unpredictable, my actions served the purpose of another, and the results of my slayings named me that which I have ever railed against, a slave, bound in a perverse system of order and obedience that, though I could not truly see it, was order all the same." He lifted the pair of items up before his face, made a show of scrutinizing each closely, then looked around the mask to meet the gaze of the interloper bound to his left. "I've sought power and I've sought death, in nearly equal measure. One I've found in spades, but the other has eluded me no matter how many of the powerful and terrible I've thrown myself against. Now, though, I finally understand. My foe, my true foe, is that which has stretched forth its unseen hands for six hundred years to play me as its puppet." He stepped casually, almost lazily, swaggering, toward the interloper bound in chains to the far right end of the subterranean corridor. "You see, true chaos is absolute freedom, the casting off of all chains. It is an impossible dream; something we strive for but never truly reach." He let his left hand fall to his side once more, and held the Warp Eyes mask aloft. So clean-polished was it that he could see his reflection in the dark surface. Again he could see the gray-black mark on his cheek. He could feel again the fingers that had placed it there and he could wonder. "You Twili should understand this. You worship a chaotic power, but the very act of worship, of servitude, of organized religion, is the act of bowing before order. You live the contradiction even as I have." He let the mask drop from his fingers, and then, as he locked eyes with one, then the other, he slammed a boot down on it, crushing it beneath his heel. It was a simple thing then to use the same foot to sweep the shards into the moving water. "Balanced between two perverted systems of order, two warped constructs of unwitting slavery, you must play both sides against the middle. Such is the only way to be free." With his now free hand, he undid the top buttons of his crimson undershirt, drawing the left aside to reveal the serpent's maw poised above his heart. It did not shine with its former luster. Not anymore. "Marked by each, by my slaver and my would-be slaver, I'm no longer bound by either." His smirk reached its broadest and deepest, and his eyes were alight, passionate, as he drew closer still to the left Twili. "Free of the compulsions of my former master, what do you think that means for you?" For a moment, for one instantaneous flash, hope reflected in the Twilis' eyes. "It means you don't need to kill us, as you have so many." "Precisely." He listened to the sigh of relief even as he tucked the Sun Shard back into his belt. The air was barely finished whistling past the Twili's teeth as Isaac's blade opened his throat all the way back to the spine. The thick spurts of blood sprayed ineffectually into the slowly running water. "And that is what is going to make these next days and weeks so remarkable, don't you think?" He turned as flecks of red clung to the thick fibers of his gray coat, and strode several paces toward the other Twili, who now seemed to shrink back into the bars, as though trying to delve through them to escape. "Here's the dirty little secret," Isaac said, practically purring as he approached in swaying, swaggering steps. "I don't need to kill anymore, am not bidden to murder, a true revelation if you ask me. But, well, I have other considerations, and frankly it seems that we've all become just a bit too comfortable in our roles, if you ask me." His free hand lashed out, not to immolate the poor, cowering bastard, but to strike the links of chain and reduce them to molten dross. The iron fell away with a dull clatter, and suddenly the interloper's hands were free and he was flexing them before his face. Furtively, his eyes shot up to Isaac and back several times, as though he was unsure if this was really happening. "I... can go?" Isaac nodded, his eyes flashing. Momentarily, the Twili shrank back again. Though he could not see it, it was because in that moment his eyes changed not to sooty red irises, as had always been. In that moment the iris and sclera had been wholly taken by an infernal orange, with his pupil a serpentine slit of black to slash through the blaze. "You can go," he replied softly. "Take these tunnels out of the city and go tell your people." The Twili turned to run in the opposite direction, past his brother in arms, but halted near the bend and looked back, sudden confusion written into his countenance. "Tell them what?" Isaac's smirk deepened; his eyes flashed again with that diabolic blaze. "That Kinslayer stands with Hyrule." It All Leads To This Harken Zeiss/Night 0/Hyrule Castle Town Sewers Harken Zeiss stood bent over a ramshackle table, peering at a tattered map. The thing had once been a fine depiction of Castle Town, but months of use intense had taken their toll, and the myriad of edits to buildings and streets had more than smudged the cartographer's original artwork. Such was life in Castle Town, anymore. His small band of survivors barely had the food to survive day to day, let alone such luxuries as art, or time for that matter. This was the only map left, and he'd had them searching for more since almost day one of their little resistance. Still, what he saw drawn here was perfect. The last altercation between the Duskblooded at the castle and those zombie-things had shifted the landscape, such that it was. The sewer opening on Dromand Way had been uncovered, and it was a prime approach vector for the castle. His accomplice, Tobias Pepperwhistle, had just brought that report yesterday after returning from a spot of scavenging. He'd also brought worse news. That blaggart Penumbra, the Duskblooded's leader, was prepping for something big. That's why the Duskblooded had skirmished against the zombies. They were looking for more bodies to fuel whatever heinous ritual was being planned. Which meant two things. First, the castle larders would no doubt be less than well-defended, if those zealots were performing some ritual. And second, Harken's Haunts, as they'd taken to calling themselves, would have to stop this Penumbra to have any chance of surviving the coming months, if it was to be as big a ritual as all that. Harken turned to Tobias. "It has to be done, then, doesn't it, old friend?" "Aye," Tobias said with a nod, cracking his knuckles. "No sense jus' wastin' o-way, 'Ark m'boy! Castle's got food, an' I've not 'ad a propah steak since this 'ole shite-show started." Harken shared a dour smirk with his longtime compatriot, then nodded back. "So be it. Check on our armoured beating-stick and get the gang ready. We'll hit them at dawn, before that old bastard Penumbra gets a chance to do whatever vile thing he's planning." Penumbra/Early Morning 1/Hyrule Castle Cathedral Penumbra's gaze glided over the gathered masses in the Cathedral. Though his congregation was smaller than that which the massive building was built to hold, it was still a respectable number. Hylian and Twili alike were gathered, though the Duskblood Corruption affected them all, twisting their physiognomy no matter each devout's origins. He had spent months cultivating this herd, this crop, from the survivors eking out a living in the benighted ruins of Castle Town. Now, finally, there were enough of them. "My children," he called out to them, arms raised, "our ascension is at hand. As the light fades, the Penumbra grows to full Umbra, until Dusk comes upon the land. Too long, now, has the light faded. Too long, now, has the Penumbra gathered shadow to itself. Transcendance is at hand." The crowd listened raptly as he preached, as they always did. They had no choice but to listen. His voice pounded through their veins. Their ears were not his audience, their souls were not that to which he called. He lifted the knife that lay upon the lectern, the same knife he had used so long ago to slay the bishop that once led services in his now-defiled place, as he strode from the pulpit. Before he had crossed even half the distance, the first of his zealots had already taken a knee, already tilted his head back, already revealed his neck and the veins of Duskblood within. Penumbra released that potent vitae in a single stroke. The man collapsed with bliss upon his face. Quietly, murmuringly, Penumbra started the rite. An ancient tongue of demons, never meant to be heard in a place once consecrated to the Divine Golden Triune, now seeped into the very walls as the fellowship took up his susurrant chant. Another throat was slit, pouring more blood onto the already stained stone. When the third sacrifice fell, the thick cruor from all three began to pool unnaturally around Penumbra's feet. He continued his gory work. Harken Zeiss/Early Morning 1/Hyrule Castle The halls of Hyrule Castle were ominously empty, but Harken led his three-man team through them nonetheless. Just on the edge of hearing, a low murmur reached the trio. Harken motioned for a stop, and each of them listened in silence for a moment. "Cathedral," whispered the man on his right. "Likely. Base of operations. And we're headed that way, anyway," responded the woman on his left. "Wherever it is, I don't like the sound of it," Harken muttered with a grunt. "We're not far," prompted the girl, "and if I'm right... We should check it out, either way." Harken nodded in assent and motioned them to move out. This time the female took point. She used to work in the castle and knew the quickest route to the Cathedral. Minutes later, they arrived to a dismaying scene. Corpses littered the pews and aisles of the Cathedral. Some were rotted, some rotting, others newly made, but they all stank of putrefication and the wretching tang of Duskblooded corruption. The man gagged and retched, curling over himself as he was overcome by the taint. Bloody vomit spread around him, then was drawn along the floor toward the only figure left standing. Harken named the odious beast. "Penumbra." The erstwhile Twili acknowledge him, after a fashion. "No longer." Penumbra circled his hand to his side and Harken saw too the massive pool of Duskblood on which he and his lone companion stood. He managed a single word before the rising tide consumed both of them. "Shit." Penumbra/Morning 1/Hyrule Castle Cathedral The Duskblood rose and swallowed the encroaching pair, encapsulating them both in Duskblood golems. They would live, for a brief moment, until they were needed to serve their part in the ritual. "I am the Penumbra. I am the harbinger of Umbra. The final three sacrifices, in mockery of the Goddesses who once mocked the world..." He looked to the large windows as the sun broke over the horizon. "The Hylians think Dawn is their salvation. But Dawn is merely another aspect of Dusk. Bring the Dusk eternal, Oh Umbra! Let this be the Last Dawn!" As crescendo to the murders committed, Penumbra plunged his dagger deep between his ribs, and with a final Dusk-fueled surge of monstrous strength he yanked it through his solar plexus, tearing his chest in twain. The foulest of Duskblood burst in a fountaining cascade, arcing to spray over the twin Duskblood Golems. The creatures reveled in the shower, if such mindless abominations could be said to revel, and then they, too, burst in a gory explosion of vitae. Harken and his companion were gone. Now, two different figures stood were once the golems loomed. The one, a woman of indistinguishable feature, appearing cloaked in shadow despite the burning torches, despite the flickering candles, despite the burning beams of dawn's early light. The other was a Zora, red of scale and a crazed look in his eyes. “ol’ Blommy over there!” GILBA GILBA BLOM BLOMGRIN MORNING ONE The front door of the Ragged Maiden inn groaned in denial, waking as if from a pleasant dream of fresh door fields and frolicky door-like memories. Blom Blomgrin sat at the counter and polished the mugs, grinning sadly. In sympathy. He knew that feeling. He’d have to take that door "out back" soon. It had been with him since the beginning, since his relocation to Gilba Gilba. He’d never put a door down before. It was probably like discarding any other piece of wood. No big deal. Get over it, Blom. But it’s my door, Blom complained to his third-person narrator. I just— “OLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL BLOMMY OVER THERE!!!” Blom’s door blasted open and exposed a take-your-pick of Gilba Gilba's residents shrieking in greeting. This one? Glen. Glen Blomgrin. BLOM’S BROTHER. Blom scrambled to pretend a soliloquy to his front door was not about to fill the inn’s common room. “SHUT THE FRONT DOOR,” Blom screamed at his brother, who was pointing at him from across the room. This was the fourth time today Glen had made such an entrance and it was only 9am. “Ol’ Blommy over there,” Glen grumbled quietly. He took a seat in the common room and started sorting his coins. Glen collected coins but Blom didn’t have the heart to inform him they were actually rocks. Just rocks from the river. Regular old rocks. He thought it had started out as an apparent lighthearted joke, but Blom had let it slide for way too long. At what point should he have stamped it out? He couldn't say anything now. Well this is where it got him. His brother hauling rocks around. Blom resumed his morning’s work. Clean the counter. Sweep the hallway. Make sure the Ragged Maiden's inn-tern Rogramormmmomirmim had the pantry stocked. The furniture in the common room was a little creaky but it still held together. Resources were sparse lately and any sensible Hyrule citizen managed his own repairs, or took care not to damage anything. He straightened worn tablecloths and chipped candlesticks. Blom’s bad hip pulsed in a purple discomfort but a proper innkeep must stay on task. Gilba Gilba had but one inn, and the community had come to depend on the two Blomgrins’ commitment to quaint, dependable service. It was a staple of the town. The Ragged Maiden. Come for the food! Stay for the food. Then buy a room or get out. “We’re low on wine, Glen,” Blom called from the kitchen. “Do me a favor and get another barrel from Heemee’s this afternoon?” He winced and leaned heavily on his cane. He was not a young man anymore, oh no he was not. Nope. Nope he wasn’t. He was not young. Not a youngin’. Not a spry lil’ guy. No. NO! No WAY he— “You got it, boss,” Glen replied, cutting off Blom’s insistent inner voice. That had been happening more frequently lately. Quaint Gilba Gilba’s quaintly quaintness had exorcised Blom’s demons as he’d hoped it would, but here and there they still squeezed through the cracks in his life, memories of the past manifesting themselves in unpredictable episodes. Heemee’s was not far, but not close. It lay outside Gilba Gilba. Villagers said it was “roun’ the bend o’ th' shroomy dune and back agin fer another quart'r o’ th' way” for a short journey that always took longer than it should. Glen hoisted his massive backpack of boulders with a loud groan and staggered for the door. Blom stopped him. “Careful out there,” he warned his brother. The war was a distant thing, a story, a tale. But still… rumors had a way of coming true in Hyrule. Even the weirdest. Old Jumi Rubigen was once suspected of tickling ducks and, well, we all know how that ended. That’s Hyrule for you. “Try to make it back before dusk.” “I hear ya,” Glen answered soberly. Dusk. Maybe he should have chosen a different word. News of the war was infecting everyone in some manner or another. “I’ll bring Herbie along. After all, Heemee’s is roun’ the bend o'—“ “I know.” “—oomy dune and—“ “I know.” “—er quart’r o’ the— “I KNOW!” “All right all right!” Glen huffed. Blom hated that saying. HATED. They walked around back to hitch up Yugujehheh, their trusty packhorse, and readied the cart for the trip to Heemee’s. He grumbled to himself, cleaning their sign and waving to a few passing villagers, nodding to the hollers of “ol’ Blommy over there!” and smiling like he wasn’t sick to death of it. __FORCETOC__ Category:Stache19 Category:Jeskai Kondoru Category:Morton Waypost Category:Bernard Kotaro Category:Sirius Fulmaren Category:Jaden Bryseis Category:Darrel Mytura Category:Cream04849 Category:Tristandark Category:Silverslate Category:Lonesome Treant Category:Ithan Chiaria Category:Lia Chiaria Category:Phasma Timora Category:Sye024